


Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt

by jonny_vrm (elmo_loves_me)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-30
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:06:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmo_loves_me/pseuds/jonny_vrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Hey, man.  At least I don't break glasses at parties and then flounce off like some kind of drama queen with a broken nail."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt

Jensen hates promotional parties. There's no way around it, he just flat out, no holds barred, check your coat at the door because it's going to be a rough night _hates them_. It's also not helping his mood any that Jared appears to be having the time of his young fucking life, and Jensen didn't know it was possible for a guy to pick up that amount of chicks at just one party.

Well, that's a lie, because he's done it before himself, but still. This is _Jared_ he's talking about, Jared of the floppy hair, out-dated plaid button-downs and holey jeans. Jared doesn't have the style, the panache, the _flare_ that's needed to be able to get girls at that speed. Jared's just too damn awkward, like he almost doesn't know his own body.

Or, apparently not. As ridiculous as it sounds, tonight seems to be the night Jared finally finishes puberty, because the easy flow of leg and hand, the bright smile, the confident step, is catching even Jensen's eye.

Jensen watches irritably as Jared swoops out on to the dance floor with two more acquisitions of the female persuasion, swinging them both around in a fast two-step and managing not to look like a total dork while smiling from ear to ear. Again, where Jensen expects too big feet and inelegance, there is instead a sort of floating grace of the kind that can only be achieved by tall people. This is a skill Jensen has yet to master (and some inches he has yet to grow, and he _will_, dammit), and he mutters, "Showoff," into his drink, consoling himself by tossing it all back in one gulp that burns the back of his throat on the way down.

Feeling the liquor hit his stomach like a freight train, Jensen realizes that he hasn't had anything to eat in the last five hours, and that perhaps chugging isn't the best thing in the world to do with premium-grade vodka. His glass appears to be shaking in his hand, and before he knows what's happening, he's broken it by squeezing too tightly. His fingers immediately start to bleed, small rivulets of blood running down his palm, his wrist, soaking the cuff of his shirt and dripping languidly to the floor.

"Oh man, you all right, dude?" A hand lands on his shoulder, and Jensen looks up to see some random extra, the guy with the tattoo from _Scarecrow_, reach out a hand and rest it on his shoulder. The hand squeezes gently. "Hey, can you understand me, man? How many have you had? You just busted your fucking glass… I think you need to go to the hospital."

"Yeah, I… yeah," Jensen mumbles, suddenly resigned. He unclenches his hand, and the remains of his glass fall to the floor with a tinkle. He notices rather disconnectedly that there are sparkling shards sticking out of his fingers, like diamonds on the wrong side of a ring, and he wonders how many drinks he really _did_ have, because he sure as hell shouldn't be this drunk.

"Look, I'm going to get you a towel or somethin', awright?"

Jensen nods dumbly. He senses Tattoo Guy leaving, and finally looks up from his hand. Jared is oblivious to Jensen's plight, body fitted snuggly against that of a curvy blonde, his leg between her thighs, her hands low on his hips, as they grind together. His smile is blazing, and Jensen feels another dull lurch of… something, that bubbles uneasily in his stomach.

Jared should be… not dancing, not flirting, not getting hard and getting off, like he's probably doing now. Jared should be _his_, and what the fuck does that mean? Where does this shit even come from? Sometimes the stuff Jensen's mind spits up is completely unknown even to him, and this is one of those times. Jensen doesn't own Jared, and he doesn't want to either, not even a little bit.

Jared's mouth goes slack as the blonde presses lips to his neck, and Jensen has to turn away before he breaks something else.

Tattoo Guy returns, taking a towel and carefully wrapping it around Jensen's hand, before slinging an arm around Jensen's shoulders. "I'll take you to the hospital, man. You need to get that looked at."

"Fine, thanks," Jensen doesn't know who the hell this guy is, and he doesn't _want_ to know, but it's a ride to the emergency room, anyway, and he needs that. There's no way he's driving with a mangled hand, and he just _cannot_ remember how much vodka he actually ingested before he became distracted by Jared's conquests and Jared's fucking long legs and low-rise jeans.

T.G's car is a dilapidated old Volvo, and it turns out that the passenger door has to be kicked violently before it pops open. Jensen wonders if each traveler has left a dent, a shoe shaped imprint on this guy's car; like some kind of demented fingerprint in the machine world of 2055. The seat is lumpy, and Jensen's knees are folded up against the dash.

"Sorry, man, that seat stuck way back in '94. Little flexibility never hurt anyone."

Jensen doesn't complain, doesn't make eye contact, doesn't talk except for a mumbled "Thanks" when he gets out of the car at the ER doors. The streetlights in this part of town are watery, faltering at best, and he can barely see the guy's face when he turns back to slam the door shut.

"No prob, karma pays all this shit back." T.G. says, nauseatingly optimistic, and Jensen has a flash of Jared's hand on the swell of the blonde's breast, and wonders what karma will do to pay back him back for that; for the blatant invasion of property.

And there it is again, that fucking "property" issue. Jared. Is. Not. His.

"See you around sometime," T.G. calls, leaning across roll up the window before speeding away, and Jensen almost yells after him to stop, his no-strings-attached kindness pissing Jensen off more than being ignored and bleeding at the party would have. Changing his mind, he heads inside.

***

It's almost two in the morning when Jensen unlocks his front door, saluting the ambulance that drove him here, before pushing inside. He's 22 stitches the worse-for-wear, and his hand is a mass of gauze and tape that he doesn't even fucking recognize.

Inside his apartment it's dark, and he practically jumps out of his skin when someone moves in the living room. His hand flies to the light switch, and it's only after he slams it on that he realizes it was his bad hand and it hurts like a _motherfucker_.

"Ow! Jesus fuck! Who the hell – what in the name of Christ are you _doing_ here Jared? You scared the shit out of me! Ow! My fucking hand…!" Jensen cradles the offended appendage to his chest and stares incredulously at Jared.

"I… was wondering how you were. That's all."

He looks impossibly large standing in front of Jensen's clean-lined couch and thoroughly modern art, like a little piece of Texas come to roost in Jensen's apartment, and Jensen feels drawn to him like he would to a ten-galleon hat or a pair of cowboy boots.

"Well, I'm good. You can go now," Jensen snaps, turning sideways to stare at the hallway that leads to kitchen, bath, and bedroom. He doesn't know why he feels so angry, doesn't know why he says it, but he spits out, "You've got something, or should I say some_one_, else to do, anyway."

"What?"

"You know, your blonde bimbo. Where's she waiting, in the car? Or is she already at your pad, getting the bed ready?" Jensen's words are harsh, like acid in his mouth, and he wonders why he's acting like such a bitch. It's not like him to care this much about his friends, especially friends with potential, and he ruthlessly squashes that notion before it goes too far.

Jared is silent. Jensen shrugs and walks forward to his kitchen, switching on the fluorescent overhead with his good hand, before heading to the fridge and cracking it open for no reason other than to look like he's doing something. He can feel Jared when he comes to stand in the kitchen doorway.

"Look, as soon as I heard you were in the hospital, I dropped everything and came here. Wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You're such a fucking idealist," Jensen says, softer now. The admission that he _is_ more important than Jared's newfound talent for womanizing soothes his frazzled nerves.

He hates himself for even needing that kind of validation.

Shutting the fridge, he turns to Jared's tall, lanky frame tumbled against his kitchen door like fallen Roman architecture. The arches of his shoulders and the empty windows of his eyes a coliseum that hides remembered fights and gladiators, and for a second, Jensen forgets to breathe.

"Hey, man. At least I don't break glasses at parties and then flounce off like some kind of drama queen with a broken nail."

The smile is slow to grow on Jensen's face, but once it does, he doesn't even think of hiding it. Letting out a gust of air, he looks down and shakes his head.

"Whatever. If you're going to bug me you should just go away, pretty boy."

"Don't think you can get rid of me that easily. You ever hear of _Mystery Science Theater_?"

Jensen raises an eyebrow, and watches Jared's lips as they stretch over vowels and consonants.

"It's this old TV show, where they criticize really bad scifi and horror movies. Come on, you'll like it. I've got a boxed set."

Later, when they're sitting on the couch and Jensen's stomach hurts from laughing so hard, he looks over at Jared only to find that Jared is watching _him_, smiling. Jensen grins back, and just like that, _mineminemine_ starts up again in his head and he knows that he could never let Jared go to some anonymous chick that easily.

_Next time, I fight back_, he vows, and reaches out to cuff Jared easily on the side of the head, saying, "Who knew two robots and some guy stranded in space would make my night."

"They usually do," Jared hits Jensen back, slouches down a little more, and Jensen tries not to notice how their knees are touching and have been for the last hour.

***

Unfortunately for Jensen, the previous night's awkwardness is like a small, yapping Chihuahua compared to the slobbering Doberman that is now rampaging around his apartment, and Jensen is seriously contemplating rethinking that whole "fighting back" agenda he was envisioning.

It happens like this:

Jensen wakes up at a weird sideways slant, and it takes him only a few moments to figure out that he and Jared fell asleep on the couch. Jared has slouched down to the point that his knees are flush against the coffee table, and Jensen somehow slipped sideways so that his head is resting on Jared's chest, heartbeat steady under his ear and a sharp hipbone digging into his arm. It takes another millisecond for Jensen to realize that Jared is still half-asleep, and that those are his fingers threading themselves through the hair above Jensen's ear over and over again.

"Jared," Jensen whispers, starting to get up, but Jared's hand tightens in his hair and drags Jen's head back down onto his stomach.

"Shh, baby, s'too early," Jared murmurs and Jensen stares up at him, lips slightly parted, highly conscious of the side of his mouth pressed against Jared's T-shirt. Jared's lashes are thick against his skin, and his abs are a flesh-solid, heated pillow under Jensen's cheek.

And then Jared's eyelids snap open.

There is a moment of absolute stillness, where Jared's eyes move rapidly, cataloguing his surroundings and remembering where he is. Then, there is a deep intake of breath, and Jensen can almost hear the click when the thought, _So what's that on my stomach…?_ falls into place.

The frozen time where Jared stares into Jensen's eyes is even longer, and when he finally lifts his hand out of Jensen's hair, Jensen can still feel the warm palm print burning into his scalp.

Rolling onto his back, Jensen swings his feet to the floor and sits up. He doesn't look at Jared, and the mere inches between them widen into an impossible chasm, unbearable to bridge and treacherous to contemplate. But oh, he wants to. One touch, one pull, and Jensen could lose himself in Jared's sleep-warm skin and soft mouth.

Jared stands up suddenly, "Um, can I use your shower? I'm pretty sure I still stink from the party."

"Go ahead on," Jensen says, "You can borrow one of my shirts, too," he adds, almost as an afterthought. His eyes dart up, and then back down. "I mean, if you need to."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks," and just like that Jared's gone, the door to Jensen's bathroom closing and the sound of running water coughing to life behind it. The tone of the spray changes when it hits Jared's skin, and Jensen has never been so hard in his life, the thick length in his jeans something he can no longer ignore.

Cupping his palm desperately over his cock through the rough denim, Jensen lets himself fall sideways, burying his face in the couch and inhaling a scent that is earthy and lingering and _all Jared_. It only take him three good rubs to come, and then he's gasping apologies into the threads of his couch, fireworks going off behind his closed eyelids while his thighs tremble through his trip down from the top.

When Jensen lets Jared out of his house twenty minutes later, he's still wearing his sticky jeans, and his favorite, vintage Led Zeppelin T-shirt is caressing the tempting angles of Jared's back, hanging loose around his neck and tight around his biceps. The shirt is Jensen's, but now it's Jared's, and isn't Jared Jensen's, too? Questions of belonging and attraction are written in invisible ink all over that shirt, and Jensen wonders how he'll make it through seeing Jared on set, wearing _his_ clothes, without pulling him into the nearest supply closet and sucking Jared's brains out through his dick.

He watches Jared through the curtains until he's driven away, and then Jensen presses his forehead to the window glass, lets out a sigh, and wonders what the fuck is happening to him. Also, his jeans are really starting to stick, and he's probably going to have to take them off soon, before his pubic hair fuses to the back of the zipper and he has a really big problem.

He still waits another ten minutes before finally moving away from the window.


	2. You're Breaking my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He's tempted to take the leafy plant with him when he runs to hide the fact that he's still half hard, but Jared has long legs, and Jensen figures the sprinting he's doing will hide the lump anyway._

That day on the set Jensen can't stop staring at Jared. He'd walked in that morning tall and beautiful, skin bronzed and almost too perfect just like usual, but then, _bam_! He was sporting Jensen's T-shirt. Wearing it like he was nervous and shy about it, and Jensen couldn't believe the heat that spread through his belly when he saw how conscious Jared was of his shirt.

Jared doesn't make it halfway to his monogrammed pseudo-director's chair before Kripke stops him for a quick chat about Sam this and Dean that. He crosses his arms over his chest, tightening the fabric over his biceps and chest, and Jensen trips over a few wires that should have been easy to avoid trying to watch the way the T-shirt's logo clings to unyielding muscle and smooth skin. Untangling his feet from the wires, Jensen looks up to find Jared watching him out of the corner of his eye.

When Jared sees that he's caught out, guilty as charged, he blushes a dewy sort of pink that starts at his ears and makes it's way slowly across his cheekbones, and Jensen realizes that they are so fucked.

Jared falls asleep in the makeup chair next to Jensen's, slouching down while the shirt rides up, and Jensen thinks that now he's wearing the shirt like he loves the smell of it, the feel of it, and isn't it actually the smell and feel of Jensen that Jared's reacting to? Jensen tries to reason it through, _No, it's just the shirt. It's damn comfy, that's why it's my favorite_, but he knows. All of the blondes or brunettes that Jared can pick up with their endless, soft lines and flowing hair mean nothing, because Jensen _knows_.

It's not just a shirt. It's _Jensen's_ shirt.

And when Jared wakes up and stretches, turning sleepy, smoldering eyes to Jensen like he knows he'll be there, like he's forgotten about the makeup trailer and is back on Jensen's couch, Jensen licks his lips and wonders where the nearest supply closet is. Jared's changed again; now he's wearing the shirt like he wants to take it off, wants to rip the fabric in his haste, wants to get it caught on one arm, rucked up under his arching back, because he's in such a hurry to get skin on skin on mouth on cock.

Jensen shifts uncomfortably; no amount of leg crossing can hide what's going on in his lap, and just stares and stares.

Jared lets his eyes slide closed and pulls his arms above his head, stretching and showing every groove of his ribcage through the shirt, revealing the dark line of wispy hair that leads down his taught stomach and disappears under the waistband of his jeans. Jensen comes _this close_ to lunging out of his chair and onto Jared, before Jared's stretch collapses like a deflated balloon and his eyes clear as he looks quickly away.

_Why are you denying it?_ Jensen wonders.

Jared's tense back asks, _Why do you think it's even there at all?_

"Jared," Jensen says softly, and when Jared turns, his face is a sunburst of confusion and admiration and something balanced behind the iris that scars whatever it touches, and Jensen thinks, _This is why_.

***

They're filming the indoor segments of _Scarecrow_ today, and Jared's in costume now, Jensen's shirt handed back with a mumbled, "Thanks," and Jensen still can't get the body-warmed feel of the cloth to leave his fingers. Before stuffing the garment into his locker, he presses his nose to the wrinkled bundle of fabric, flashing back to the scent of the couch cushions that morning and getting hard all over again.

_Goddamn_, thinks Jensen, and no way Dean is gonna fly with a boner this size waving in the wind. There's absolutely no reason for him to have one, either, considering he's being arrested in this scene and Jensen really doesn't think Dean gets off on that. (Or, if he does, it sure isn't in the script.)

Left with no choice, Jensen stands strategically behind a potted plant while he charitably offers to let the Sam scenes be filmed first. Neither of them likes being covered in powder and blush all day, and Jensen usually ignores Jared's cracks about his baby-fine skin, insisting on being filmed immediately if they have any separate scenes so that he can scrub his cheeks and forehead clean as soon as possible. This time though, Jensen's offer is accepted, and Jared quirks a questioning eyebrow, but Jensen waves him off.

"Got things to do, people to be, Jerry."

Jared's eyes narrow, "I told you not to call me that."

Jensen feels his lips stretch in a truly evil grin, "Well now, isn't that a shame… Geraldine."

He's tempted to take the leafy plant with him when he runs to hide the fact that he's still half hard, but Jared has long legs, and Jensen figures the sprinting he's doing will hide the lump anyway.

Luckily, Kripke starts calling for Jared before anyone gets trampled or Jensen gets maimed, and Jared stomps back to the cluster of cameras and lights growling and straightening his clothes. Jensen just doubles over and laughs until the ground start to blur through the tears in his eyes.

***

After work, Jensen knows he shouldn't push his luck, _really_ he does, but he can't resist, and a few more well placed "Geraldo's" and "Jare-bear's" has him running for his life again, trying not to get a cramp because he's giggling like he hasn't since he was in sixth grade and accidentally got a look up Suzy Colby's pink, frilly skirt.

Jared catches him, but just barely, the fingers of his hand reaching, reaching, and finding the collar of Jensen's jacket, hooking firmly into the cloth as Jared yanks forcibly backward. Jensen's ready, though, and with a quick twist of his shoulders the jacket is off and he's scampering away again, Jared swearing a blue streak behind him.

"Come on, Jerry-Lou-Who, where's your spirit of adventure?" Jensen howls, hanging a sharp left and pushing through the doors to the parking lot. It's chilly outside, and the wind rips through his T-shirt, digging its teeth in with the finality of a shark attack. Jensen has just dropped behind the nearest car when Jared bursts out of the double doors, breathing heavily.

"Where are you, you fucker! This isn't fair!" Jared oscillates wildly between the rows of cars, hair sticking to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Waa waa… you're breaking my heart. Shouldn't you be heading home?" Jensen drawls, before keeping low and scurrying behind the next car in line. Jared's stupidly huge feet are loud even as he tries to be stealthy, and Jensen smiles and starts working his way towards the side of the building and eventual escape around the west face.

"Fuck home…" He hears Jared huff and Jensen, using that to judge his position in relation to his hunter, makes a break for it.

The bricks are shockingly hard when he's slammed against them, and suddenly he has six foot five of angry Jared plastered against his back and a nose-full of gritty brick dust.

"Got you," Jared growls in his ear, and the combination of his hot breath and the chafe of 5 o'clock stubble has Jensen shoving his hips back in a silent plea before he even realizes what's happening. Jared sucks in a quiet gasp and seems to solidify, becoming a block of wood, and Jensen feels like his heart is beating through his chest.

_Stupid stupid stupid!!! How could you fuck this up?!_

And then his back is scraping the bricks instead and Jared it right up in his face.

"What the fuck was that?" Jared whispers, but he doesn't sound angry. Jensen can feel his hands trembling where he's clutching Jensen's biceps.

"I… don't know?" Jensen tries, and the look etched across Jared's features is a knife's edge of indecision. On the one side is a punch to the gut, a broken nose, and probably a trip to the hospital. On the other side however, judging from the way Jared's gaze flares and licks over Jensen's face like it's the best kind of ice cream, is a whole lot of sex.

Jensen wets his lips nervously.

Jared leans an elbow on the wall above Jensen's head, effectively trapping him in.

"What are we doing," a soft, bewildered whisper of sound on Jensen's face as Jared brings his other hand up to cup Jensen's jaw.

Jensen makes a split-second choice, "Kissing, that's all. Nothing but kissing," he manages to rasp out, before he can't wait anymore and he's hooking his fingers into Jared's belt loops and yanking him closer.

At first, it's just light brushes of nose and lips, Jared's head dipping this way while Jensen's tilts that way and they try to find a fit that will work, an angle that can measure what's happening between them in degrees of mouth and tongue and panted breaths. Jensen's hands have taken hold of the hard ridge of pelvic bone on either side of Jared's body, conquering through denim and boxer, his fingers digging into the beginning swell of ass while his thumbs mark the hollows of Jared's hips. Jensen lets out a shuddery breath he didn't realize he was holding, feeling it break over Jared's chin, before Jared's proprietary hand pushes Jensen's jaw up that extra inch and they're _there_.

The liquid, velvet slick of flesh against flesh takes over Jensen's world until his mouth is open so far he's sure Jared's examining his tonsils with that tongue, and he wouldn't have it any other way. The low, vulnerable sound Jared's making deep in his throat has Jensen forgetting how to breathe.

Hands fumbling at his fly are the last thing Jensen expects, but he's too far gone to protest (_Think about this, be sure, this isn't only a fuck to me_) so he just widens his stance and tips his hips forward in mute invitation. His eyes are closed, and Jensen isn't sure if the attack of vertigo is from his head falling back or Jared tonguing along his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin below his ear.

The shock when he's pulled out of his boxer-briefs and exposed to the cold is marked by a sharp intake of breath on his part, but then it's Jared's rough fingers that make him let it out a choked off moan. Jared lets his forehead drop onto Jensen's shoulder, and Jensen can feel him gasping onto the damp skin of his neck. Another zipper sizzles open in the humid space between them, and Jensen jumps before Jared's shoving his hips closer, lining up their cocks, and wrapping his big hand around both of them. Jared's calluses feel unbelievable against Jensen, and he can feel his eyes roll back in his head as Jared's name rips itself from his lips.

"Jared…!"

"Fuck, Jensen… ah, god," Jared is whimpering, moist in Jensen's ear, a staccato rhythm of strokes bringing them both closer to the edge, when they each hear the hiss of the hydraulic hinges on the door that leads to the lot.

Male laughter echoes, and Jared has become petrified, both of their eyes snapping open. Jensen is staring at a fading purple sky, brilliant rents of orange and a wash of pink announcing another spectacular Vancouver sunset. Jared can see Jensen's pulse pounding in his neck, the skin fluttering over his jugular; see his adams apple bobbing up and down as he tries to swallow, tries to breath, tries to _anything_.

Luckily they're hidden, but barely. They're tangled together immediately around the corner from the door, and the two camera grips standing on the stoop can't be more than fifteen feet from a public indecency charge waiting to happen.

Jared begins to pull back, obviously panicking, and Jensen starts to get pissed. Royally, no-you-fucking-_didn't_ pissed _off_. No _way_ is he going to get within seconds of the orgasm of his young life (_With Jared_ for fuck's sake! Don't these people have _any_ sense of timing?), and have it get snatched away by Ted and Eugene from Hyuck-hyuck, Tennessee.

No. Fucking. Way.

"Don't you fucking move," Jensen hisses, reaching up to wrap an arm around Jared's neck, and down to curl his remaining hand around Jared's fistful of their dicks, "Unless it's to jerk me off… understand?"

Jared quivers against him, visibly turned on by the order, but starts to shake his head, "No, we can't, they'll –"

"I don't care, Jared. All I care about is you," Jensen grits, deliberately twisting their combined hands, rubbing his thumb through the sticky pre-come on the head of Jared's cock, and watching with burning satisfaction as Jared bites his lip savagely. A small spot of blood appears, but Jared keeps biting down, desperate to stay quiet.

Jensen only continues to jerk his fist and eventually Jared gets with the program, and seals his open mouth against Jensen's neck, muffling his helpless groans by letting them vibrate through Jensen's skin. When he comes, he sucks a gigantic hickey onto Jensen's collar bone because he's trying not to make any noise, and the stinging bruise has Jensen biting his own wrist where it's slung around Jared's neck to keep from screaming as he pulses over their twined fingers.

***

The last few minutes are a haze, and Jensen can't really remember a lot. Only that Jared zipped them both up with a gentle touch and gentler words, saying something like, "so good" and "sorry" and "my fault", which didn't make any _sense_ anyway, because how could something as awesome as Jared giving him a hand job in the fucking _parking lot_ be something that needed apologizing for? Jensen wants to sing and dance and paint the town not just red but orange and yellow and sparkling gold, so he's confused when Jared tucks him into his car, he's confused when he drives away, waving to Jared in the rearview, and he's confused when he pulls into his garage.

It's the musty smell of long-decayed mulch that smacks him upside the head as soon as he steps outside of his car and snaps him back to reality. Blanching, he manages to grab onto the top of his car door. His fingers are practically bending the metal, before he starts calling himself, his mother, and his second cousin every name in the book because, "Holy shit, he was freaking out."

Jensen announces this to the mouse droppings and the rusty rake in the corner with the gravity of a President declaring total war, before he swings himself into the driver's seat again and squeals back onto the road, burning rubber all the way to the studio.

Jared is not there.

"Fuck! Fuck, where is he?" Jensen cruises slowly through the rows of hulking SUVs and sleek Corvettes, eyes peeled for a fluttering plaid shirt or a gray hoodie, knowing he needs to reach his co-star before the fall-out gets truly nasty. He's close to screaming in frustration before he remembers.

_The bar! Jared's bar! With the mixed drinks and the tiny umbrellas and the complete lack of testosterone!_ Jensen crows triumphantly in his head, peeling out of the lot and speeding to Jared's favorite hangout.

***

The gaudy pink awning and flashing neon lights are just as he remembers them from the one time Jared tried to bring him here. He'd absolutely refused to set foot inside ("Don't you know, Jared? A man could lose his pride in there! I hear they keep eunuchs in the back, to serve the drinks! Do you _want_ that to happen to me? I'm pretty enough!" And, all right, enough already, he'd been drunk from the two previous bars they'd hopped that night), but this time he squares his shoulders, gives his balls a last protective squeeze, and marches into the belly of the beast.

Fortunately, the first thing that he sees is Jared. Unfortunately, the second thing that Jensen sees is the giggling redhead Jared's frantically making out with, as if every kiss makes him a little straighter, and every inch her skirt slips up makes him a little less Jensen-inclined.

Jensen doesn't even try to get Jared's attention, doesn't attempt to pick his stomach up off the floor, or peel his heart off of the wall where Jared's smashed it. His eyes aren't watering either, nuh-uh. It's only because his windows are open as far as they'll go and all the road grit is blowing in his face, catching in his eyes and his lashes, scratching up his corneas.

He leaves the lights off when he gets home, but he never did need to see to sniff his way to a good jug of booze, fuck the morning-after hangover. _And fuck-you-very-much too, Jared_, Jensen thinks, tipping the mouth of the bottle in the general direction of his ruined fantasy, before settling his mouth around the rim and taking a good, long chug.


	3. Thou Shalt Not Fuck Thy Co-Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What do you care?" Jensen spits out, groping his sunglasses on so that he looks a lot more cool-aloof-actor-type and a lot less drunk-off-his-ass-bum. From the eyebrow Jared raises, he figures it probably didn't help that much._

The morning hangover is an absolute bitch. Jensen can hardly hear over the small dwarf sledge-hammering away behind his left eye, but he manages to grate out a few satisfactory scenes before Kripke gets upset and calls him over.

"Jensen, what the hell's up? You realize you're not supposed to get smashed on weekdays, don't you?"

Jensen knows his eyes are bloodshot, and he turns the full effect of their glare on Eric.

Eric doesn't even blink. "Spill, man. We got work to do. Whatever's fucking you up, I can't have it."

"I can't tell you, E. Sorry." Jensen mumbles, his lips making a small ripping noise when they separate. Fuck, he needs some water or some coffee or some goddamn sleep, _pronto_.

"Then you need to get your ass off my set. Jared!" He yells, "C'mere!"

Jared drags his feet but tries to look like he's not. Eric completely ignores the tension that springs up between them. "Drive your buddy home, make sure he gets his R&amp;R. We're a little ahead in filming, so I'm giving you both the day off while I take care of some technical crap, deal?"

Neither of them answers, Eric doesn't mind. He waves nonchalantly and walks off in the direction of the computer graphics center.

Jared shuffles his feet and looks at the far side of the room like it holds the secret to world peace. Jensen stands on swaying legs and tries not to look totally incapacitated.

"So, I guess we should… yeah." Jared is the first to break the silence, making an abortive gesture with his arm that Jensen thinks is meant to indicate the way to the parking lot.

_The Parking Lot_, his mind repeats, throwing on some capital letters for good measure, _Where all the trouble began._

Jensen's still in denial about what level of hangover he's suffering when he leans that little bit too far and stumbles into Jared. The way that Jared jumps away from him and lets him fumble himself upright is evidence enough that Jared's _still_ freaking out.

_Fucker._

"I've got m'own car… can drive m'self, thank you." Jensen bites out, turning on his heel and starting to walk away in what he assures himself is a relatively straight line. God, this has got to be the worst fucking headache he's ever had.

Jared doesn't move to stop him at first, and Jensen gets into his car, jangles the keys and decides to find out just how effective "hair of the dog" _really_ is. Until there is a thump and Jared is standing in front of Jensen's hood, hands leaving sweaty prints all over Jen's freshly washed car.

"Dude… what the fuck?" Jensen says, before realizing Jared can't hear him and rolling down the window.

_Wash, rinse, repeat._

"Dude… what the fuck." This time, it's not a question, just an exasperated statement that lays everything Jensen's feeling out there on the pavement in front of Jared. It's a declaration that refers not only to Jen's car, but to all the shit that has gone down in the last twenty-four hours.

Unfortunately, Jared doesn't pick up on that.

"You're drunk, Jensen. No way you're driving."

"What do you care?" Jensen spits out, groping his sunglasses on so that he looks a lot more cool-aloof-actor-type and a lot less drunk-off-his-ass-bum. From the eyebrow Jared raises, he figures it probably didn't help that much.

'You're my… my friend. So I care. Nothing could ever change that."

Jensen nods, and starts the engine.

"What...? Jense! Stop that! Turn the car off! I need to drive you, you stupid shit."

Jensen eases his foot onto the gas, nudging the car forward, all the while bobbing his head and smiling as amicably as he can. It's making his face hurt like he's propping his grin open with a toothpick.

Jared swears loudly and starts to come around to the driver's side window, but Jensen floors it and lays some rubber on the asphalt as he heads for the exit. He can see Jared waving to him in the rearview, and then he can see nothing but the cars behind him, and lo and behold his headache is starting to go away. He redlines it all the way home, middle finger cocked and at the ready.

Jensen's used it five times, throwing the stiff arm salute to anyone who dares honk at his greatness, his fucking fan_tas_ticality, before he finally hits the incline of his driveway and settles his car in, slamming the door with a wobbly flourish and making a beeline for his unofficial liquor/TV/Playstation cabinet.

He's not too surprised when he hears the rumble of Jared's truck cut off outside of his apartment, and after five consecutive shots, the knocks are like Jared's slamming directly on his skull. Jensen takes the tequila bottle with him when he opens the door.

"Well, lookit'choo. All worried f'me. Touching!" He uses his width to block the door. Jared may be a tall sum'bitch, but when Jensen puts his mind to it, there's no way his lanky costar can beat a good pair of shoulders and Jensen's righteous resolve. Surprisingly, Jared doesn't even try to come in.

"Aw, Jen… don't drink that."

"Drink what I wanna."

"Look, we should – can we go somewhere?"

"Why'd you wanna do that?"

"I guess we need to have a talk. About… about things. You know?"

Jensen leans against the doorframe expectantly, the bottle dangling easily from his fingertips.

"So, talk."

"Jense…" Jared almost whines, and suddenly Jensen really hates him. This stupid little shit, standing in front of him like _Jensen_ is the one who's done something wrong, like _Jensen_ is the one who needs to apologize! Jensen feels his knuckles crack as he clenches his fist, or maybe that was the glass bottle neck.

"Jared,"

Jared looks hopeful, but then catching the glint in Jensen's eyes; he quickly changes his posture and expression to one of wariness. "Yeah…?"

"Get. The fuck. Out of my face."

Jared flinches again, but instead of remorse this time it brings Jensen only the savage light of satisfaction. He's still bathing in it when Jared gets in his truck and drives away.

***

At eight o'clock that night, Jensen gets the surprise of his currently miserable life when the pounding on his door reveals a very determined and nicely dressed Jared. Before he can say anything, Jared starts babbling.

"Look, Jense, I know I fucked this up really bad and I know you probably hate me now and God I sound like some kind of fucking teenager but I really think we need to talk about this somewhere where we're on level ground and you're not completely fucking yourself up on booze so if you would just please please _please_ consider coming with me to dinner I promise I won't bother you again after tonight until you ask me to-"

"Jared, Jesus, take a breath before your eyes pop out!"

Jared pauses mid-beg and looks Jensen slantways in the eye. "Does that mean yes?"

"It means I agree to everything except the not fucking myself with booze part. Booze will be oh so very necessary, Jare, you'll see."

Jared almost wilts from relief, before he coughs to cover it and straightens himself, turning away from the door.

"Just let me grab a different shirt," Jensen murmurs, turning back to his darkened apartment. Jared has the truck idling when Jensen steps back out, buttoning up an all black number that's never failed him before, and heads to the passenger side. When he slides onto the seat he catches Jared's incredulous stare, but refuses to turn to him until after he's slammed the car door.

"What?" Jensen asks, glaring at Jared.

"You're wearing _leather pants_? I thought you were going to change your _shirt_, not kill and skin a _cow_ for the occasion!"

Jensen doesn't smile and the joke falls flat. Jared coughs again.

"In case I decide you're not worth my time, I'm not going to waste the evening. Few clubs I want to try out." Jensen says coldly. Still, even through Jensen's resolve Jared's dispirited 'Oh' tears at the threads of his anger, breaking them down. Jensen finds himself highly conscious of how close Jared's thigh is to his own on the wide expanse of seat.

***

The restaurant is nice, but Jensen fails to catch the name. He's never been here before, and it's so incredibly WASP-ish that he figures he never will be again. Jensen's the salted peanuts and Bud type, not the warm French bread and bottle of wine at your fingertips guy like Jared is, and this joint is _exactly_ Jared's kind of place. Even the tablecloths are starched, and that's just wrong.

Also, this feels like a date and that's even _more_ wrong, considering they're hear to talk about fucking each other both literally and mentally while hidden around the corner of a parking lot.

Jared orders some wine, his eyes flicking to Jensen at least ten times while he's speaking to their waiter, but Jensen refuses to catch his glances. He focuses on watching Jared in the mirror that runs the length of one wall of the restaurant.

When their waiter returns with a bottle and Jared's approved it, Jensen does turn to thank the waiter. He notes Jared downing his first glass like there's some kind of prize at stake, and just manages to stop himself before he smirks.

"Ok Jense, I think I owe you an apology."

_This should be good._ Jensen raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

Jensen purses his lips, looks down at his glass and swirls the golden liquid around a few times.

Jared looks like he wishes he had a tie to loosen. Unfortunately, if he opens one more button on his shirt, it will probably be too obscene for this eatery.

"So… I'm sorry for leading you on."

Jensen is shocked into looking at Jared, and, "Huh?" is his intelligent response.

"No, this is… ok, when I fell asleep on your couch, I woke up thinking I was at my girlfriend's place, all right?"

Jensen blinks, "But didn't you –"

"Yeah, we broke up a while back," Jared says quickly, swallowing again before continuing, "But, anyway, I don't know, you kept… you kept _looking_ at me after that. I can't even explain it, but then I started looking back and wondering and, well, then came the parking lot."

"No, then _we_ came, in the parking lot," Jensen smirks, unable to help himself, and Jared looks up like a startled deer. Jensen clears his throat, "Sorry, sorry, continue."

"Right. I guess I'm just apologizing because I let it go that far. You see, I have this rule… well, never mind about that, but I've had it forever, Jense. And it's the only thing that I've ever promised myself that I've really stuck to over the years, you know?"

"Rule?" Jensen queries, even though he gets it, he knows perfectly well. It's practically one of TV actors' ten commandments; _Thou shalt not fuck thy co-star_, written right into the contract under the legal mumbo-jumbo and the dotted line.

"Don't make me say it," Jared blushes, the stain of pink along his cheekbones something Jensen aches to touch.

"Fine."

"I really – I don't want this to affect us. Is that a ridiculous request? Can we still be buddies?"

"Don't see why not."

"Good," Jared sighs in relief, obviously deciding to ignore Jensen's stilted voice and closed off eyes. Or maybe he's just too charged with the situation to notice, but he continues, "I'm so fucking glad we got this out of the way, Jense, you would not believe."

_We had sex and you're glad you got it out of the way? That's all it was to you, an inconvenience?_

Jensen concentrates on not doing something ridiculous like bursting into tears or tripping and beating up the next server to walk past, and manages to squeeze out a "yeah, excuse me" before he rises and heads to the bathroom. The mirror reflects back a completely normal looking Jensen. His smirk is firmly in place, his five o'clock shadow perfection, so why does he feel like he's been torn open and rummaged through like a cluttered closet? And isn't that an appropriate metaphor, because suddenly he's back in the closet for Jared, the trip out being so brief he hardly even got a chance to brush off the mothballs.

"Hi," comes a deep voice behind him, and he rolls his eyes, turning to rip whoever is speaking to him a new one, before stopping with his mouth hanging slightly open.

"I'm – I'm Warren. Are you the guy from that show? Dean Winchester? Because if you are, I'm a huge fan… and oh God, you probably hear that every day."

"Yeah, yeah I am," Jensen feels a doozy of a grin start to creep across his face, "But you can call me Jensen."

Jensen holds out a hand, Warren takes it, and the spark of attraction is instantaneous. Warren's eyes are blue, and he's short and stocky and blonde and exactly the opposite of Jared. Basically, he's flawless, and he's got a dopey smile that's the exact match of Jensen's.

"You here alone?" Jensen hears himself ask, and Warren nods eagerly, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck in a bashful gesture. Jensen watches the fabric stretch across a solid bicep, notes the way the dark purple shirt gaps a little more over a smooth, tan chest, and licks his lips in surrender.

"Just let me go tell Jared that I need to bow out. I'm sure he'll understand."

Warren nods again, his puppy-dog enthusiasm almost a turn off until Jensen notes the way his eyes sweep over Jensen's body, sending a wave of arousal in their wake. Jensen shifts as his pants tighten, before finally letting go of Warren's hand and leading the way out of the restroom.

***

Jared's expression when they get back to the table is almost comical, but it quickly collapses into one of confusion, then hurt, and then stubbornness. "What do you mean, you're going to go? We just got here! I ordered wine!"

"Yeah, well, I'm bored. And Warren knows a good club, don't you Warren?"

Warren looks momentarily flabbergasted, before his face lights up and he flashes even teeth in a lecherous grin, "Oh yeah, I know a good one." His gaze crawls over Jensen's torso, and Jensen's answering smile is heated. Warren bites his lip suggestively, moving to rub the back of his neck again, and suddenly Jensen _knows_ that Warren knows it accents his muscles, but Jensen doesn't even care that he was completely played in the bathroom.

Unfortunately, he does care when Jared stands up and says, "I'm coming with you," before grabbing the two-thirds full wine bottle and turning expectantly towards the exit.

"You can't, you –"

"I can, and I will. I'll pay for the wine later," Jared leans closer, whispering so Warren can't hear, "Did you just pick this guy up in the _bathroom_? And now you're leaving with him? What the fuck is wrong with you, man?"

Jensen jerks away, anger and defiance returning. "Let's go, Warren," he hisses, and smacks Warren deliberately on the ass when he turns. Warren jolts, lips parting in shock before his eyelids slide half closed and he lazily eye-fucks Jensen's receding back. Turning to Jared, Warren says, "He's something else, isn't he?"

Jared grits his teeth. "He certainly is."

Warren laughs and follows Jensen. Jared takes a swig of the wine he's clutching, and resolutely denies the acid rush of jealously in his stomach. Jensen can fuck whoever he fucking well wants, Jared doesn't care. He doesn't even _like_ Jensen that way. That whole parking lot thing? Fucking curiosity! But Jared will be damned if Jensen gets some kind of STD from this purple-shirted fairy and Jared isn't there to stop it. It's just a friend looking out for a friend, really.

"And that's what friends do," Jared finishes his train of thought out loud, glaring daggers at the back of Warren's perfect, blonde head.


	4. Time to Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He can't believe he just ran past Ms. Gerard's house with his pants open and a fucking _hard-on_ waving hello, but then he's past astonishment and Jensen's got him pressed up into the shadows next to his door. "Open it," Jen growls, and then he traces a finger over the jut of a hipbone and almost makes Jared drop his keys._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section dedicated to sylph_ironlight, because she basically held my hand through all the butt!sex and is awesome in general.

Jensen allows Warren to pull him onto the dance floor without complaint, even though he really hates this song. Fitting himself snugly into the edges of Warren's body, Jensen watches Jared find a seat at the bar and brood silently next to a giggling group of co-eds. They toss him a few seductive glances, but Jared remains unresponsive. Jensen can't help but smile into Warren's shoulder, and Warren reacts by looping a finger into Jensen's waistband and hitching him closer. Jensen lets him, and uses the mindless rhythm of the dancing to think.

He's not mad at Jared for running away, and he even could have forgiven him for scuttling to some nameless girl in a bar, but he's fucking pissed at Jared for lying. If Jared had told Jensen straight off, "Stop, I don't want this, I'm not into it, I'm not into _you_," Jensen would've had no problem backing off and being friends and moving on. He would have had reason to _believe_ Jared and to trust his decision, because no matter how much Jensen wanted Jared, if Jared didn't reciprocate, then obviously Jensen would have to get over it.

But Jared _did_ reciprocate, he did push back and kiss back and moan Jensen's name like it was some kind of prayer, and Jensen could almost taste how much Jared wanted him in that moment before he came, gasping against Jen's sweaty throat. And then he lied about it.

Lied not only to himself, but to Jensen, and Jensen can't _stand_ liars.

Eyeing Jared again through the fine strands of hair at Warren's nape, Jensen watches him watch them. Jared looks ready to puke, his face scrunched up in a way that could mean anything from, "That's a bad smell," to "I'm bloody drunk," and Jensen turns Warren deftly sideways so that Jared can see the way Jen is leaning into Warren's chest, slipping a leg between his thighs and letting Warren pinch his ass. Since Jared's lying like a dog, Jensen's going to make him confront his self-denial through whatever means necessary.

When Warren starts pulling him towards the bathroom, Jensen feels a little bit like 007 at a gay bar, and starts to laugh. Warren throws him a questioning look, but he shakes his head and reaches forward, slides a hand over Warren's sold pec and the pebbled nipple hidden under violet silk, and Warren's eyes darken. Jensen parts his lips, and then they're inside the restroom, walls of cool tile reflecting back their quick steps and quicker breaths. The last stall is just as good as any, and Jensen backs into it, pulling Warren by the button of his fly and letting his gaze smolder and linger.

***

Jared's not drunk, but this is one of those times where he really wishes he were. Sure, he's still clutching the bottle of wine from the restaurant, but he hasn't taken a sip since he stepped out its red-carpeted doorway; mostly he's busy sitting here trying to _look_ like a pissed off boozed up asshole so everyone will leave him alone. He's been slumped at the bar for the past hour and a half now, keeping a sharp eye on Jensen and struggling with the urge to jump up and beat Warren to within an inch of his life. It gets exponentially harder every time the fucker lets his hands slide over the butter-soft leather clinging to Jensen's ass.

Jensen's ass.

And just like that, Jared's distracted in a way he's been trying to deny since he woke up that one morning sprawled out on Jensen's couch, Jen himself drooling in his lap while Jared quietly tried not to scream. Or do something really stupid, like push Jensen's head down just that little bit further.

In reality, Jared doesn't know when this thing between them started. He thinks maybe it was about two months after first meeting Jensen, when he looked up one day on the set and saw Jen sprawled on his back on the floor, lazily practicing his lines to the ceiling. He remembers that Jensen's shirt was wrinkled up so that Jared could see the sharp cut of his hipbone, and when Jensen sat up and grinned at Jared in this completely, unapologetically sexy way, Jared had to look back down at his script and try to ignore the dull ache in his chest. Back then, he hadn't even known what it was, had gone the whole day thinking it was heartburn or some such shit like that.

Now, staring at the way Jensen's hips move to the music, and the way he's pressed against someone so decidedly _not Jared_, Jared is forced to reevaluate how strong his feelings really are. The ache becomes a scald, like bootleg moonshine in his stomach, and Jared's head is blurry with it.

Jared tried not to think about what happened in the parking lot; he tried to convince himself it was an accident, mostly. A fluke because he broke up with his girlfriend and was so used to getting laid on a regular basis, and then suddenly he wasn't and Jensen was there instead. But seeing Jensen with another person, _another man_, he forces himself to acknowledge, has brought it home to him.

He wants Jensen. Wants in his pants, in his head, in his _life_, and he needs Jensen to want him back. Only him. The thought hits him between the eyes and in the balls simultaneously, and he almost doubles over from the shock and the righteous fury that fills him. Jared understands that Warren is going to have to go down, immediately, and if Jensen hates Jared after that then too bad. At least he'll have kept Warren from getting any farther than he already has.

Blinking, Jared focuses on the undulating crowd again, searching for the black button-down and the gleam of leather that denotes Jensen, and feels panic start to rise in his chest when he can't find him. Without sensing what he's doing, Jared sets down the wine bottle and gets up, pushing through bodies and conversations, scanning the room for Jensen. It is really only luck that his eye catches the tail end of Warren's purple shirt disappearing into the restrooms.

Wading through the pack of dancers seems to take forever, but Jared manages. The red and yellow lights glinting off the bathroom door are almost mocking, _Are you sure you want to go in there? You know what you'll find, don't you._ But Jared knows that yeah, he really, really does, anyway.

At first, his eyes don't adjust to the gloom of the bathroom after the bright disco-style flashes outside, but the moist sound of flesh against flesh and a heated gasp from the last stall draws his attention. Jared moved towards the stall as if in a dream, watching as his hand reaches out and shoves the door open. It bounces off the wall, and starts to swing shut, but Jared's body stops it as he stands and stares.

Warren has Jen pushed up against the tile, and he's latched his mouth onto Jensen's earlobe, while his hands work the buttons on Jen's shirt. Jared distantly notes the way Jensen has one leg wrapped around Warren's hips, and the way his fingers are digging into that stupid fucking purple shirt.

Stupid. Fucking. Purple. Shirt.

And that's when Jared loses all common sense and opens his mouth.

"What the _hell_ is going on."

He doesn't yell it, he's got more control than that, but the words feel like they're ripping themselves one by one from his vitals and they come out blood-soaked and ready to fight.

Jensen's eyes have popped open, and Warren's twisted halfway around, though he keeps Jensen securely pinned to the wall.

"The fuck do you want?" Warren slurs, his half lidded eyes lazily looking Jared over. He's not annoyed at being caught, only slightly curious, convinced that Jared will go away in about two seconds.

"Jared?" Jensen asks, more concerned, and Jared can't look him in the eye, can only stare at the red bite marks marring Jensen's smooth chest, and the way one of his buttons is missing up by the collar.

"Get off him," Jared says, his face feels hot and tight, and he has this crazy urge to give Warren a swirlie. Not the grade-school kind, either, but the most godammned vicious one the world has ever seen.

His body moves again, like he's not controlling it, and he ends up tugging Warren out in front of the sinks, getting in his face until Warren's eyes start to sharpen with understanding and he raises his hands, backing himself unknowingly into a corner.

"Look man, I'm sorry. I didn't know," Warren is babbling, "I thought you guys were just friends, I didn't mean–"

"Get the fuck out of here," Jared says quietly, "Before I rip your dick off and feed it to you."

Warren pales significantly, before he nods and rushes past Jared. In the mirror, Jared sees him toss an apologetic glance to Jensen before fleeing with his tail between his legs. The roar of sound from outside swells and then subsides when the door falls shut; Jared stares at the paper towel dispenser. Now that he's done it, basically claimed Jensen, he doesn't have a fucking clue what to do.

He can hear Jensen's breathing, still a little heavy, and the picture he can see out of the corner of his eye is making him crazy: Jensen's shirt hanging open, his lips lush with blood, a small, mouth-shaped bruise forming at the base of his neck. He's every wet-dream Jared has ever had, but Jared is suddenly panicking again. He wants Jensen, _so much_, but he doesn't know how to ask. Which is hilarious, actually, because Jared's practically declared his ownership with a brass band and a parade down Main Street.

"Jared, are you all right?" Jensen's voice echoes hollowly off the walls, and Jared lets a laugh burst out of him, surprised. It breaks the ice, and he turns to Jensen, managing to meet his eye for a heartbeat before he has to look away. "Yeah, I – yeah. I'm fine. Sorry about that."

But Jensen's already in his personal space and advancing, and Jared stumbles back until the cold wall stops him and he's got a smirking Jensen pressed all along his front.

"God, Jared, don't apologize. You being possessive is the fucking hottest thing I've ever seen," Jensen's voice is thick and low, his breath warming Jared's neck as he chuckles throatily. "If you don't take me somewhere right now and fuck me, I'm never talking to you again."

Jared opens and closes his mouth a few times, at a loss, before Jensen works a hand in between them, squeezes Jared through his jeans, and Jared's biting back a yell instead.

"God, I want you so bad," Jen says, and Jared feels his other hand tracing the waistband of his jeans, "Say it, Jared, say you want me too."

Jared has a moment to think that that should be written down somewhere, for posterity, but then Jensen is working a finger down into the back of Jared's jeans, stroking across the top of his ass-crack, and Jared lunges forward with a cry of, "Yes!" His hands tighten spasmodically on Jensen's shoulders, and he can feel his cock jump against the pressure of Jensen's hand.

"Let's go," Jensen murmurs, and Jared grabs his wrist and runs. Out of the bathroom, through the crowd, ignoring the bartender who waves his bottle of wine at him, ignoring Warren sulking by the exit, until he's got Jensen out in the open, in the parking lot (again), and pressed up against the door of his truck, squirming as Jared sucks on his lower lip. It's so fucking perfect Jared feels himself break a little inside, and he smoothes a palm over Jensen's heart, smiling against his mouth. Jensen's breath hitches, and he whispers, "Yeah, Jare…" as Jared's hand fumbles for the truck's door handle.

The seat is solid underneath then, and Jared almost laughs at their position: He's standing, feet on the ground, hidden by the open door, and Jensen's legs are wrapped around his waist. Jensen doesn't seem to mind, though, and his hands are everywhere, scratching down Jared's back and up under his shirt, fingertips dragging lines of fire across Jared's ribs. Jared manages to get a foot up into the cab of the truck, and then he shoves Jensen forward across the seat, crawling in on top of him. Jensen curses as his head hits the steering wheel, but in a second he's jerking upwards and sealing their mouths together again, licking around Jared's teeth and under his tongue.

"Fuck, Jen, slow down, I–" Jared gasps out, unable to finish as Jensen rolls his hips _just like that_ and Jared's last logical brain cell flees, screaming for it's mommy.

"What, Jared? What? Are you – do you want to stop?" Jensen sounds desperate, "'cause I can't, I don't want to."

Jared tries to think, tries to see past Jensen's rapidly moving chest and the way his lips are wet around the edges. Then he sees the panic in Jensen's eyes, the _oh no not again dammit_, and it sobers him a little.

"No, God no, I just don't want to come before I even get my pants open."

Jensen freezes, letting relief settle in, before a slow, predatory smile stretches across his face and he murmurs, "Can't have that, can we," before slipping the button on Jared's jeans and yanking the zipper down. "Fixed it," Jensen chuckles, shoving a hand inside and squeezing Jared's length quickly. Jared pulls away, hissing in pleasure, shaking his head, _nono I'm so close_.

Jensen responds by arching up again, and Jared lets his head fall forward, nuzzles across Jensen's chest until he reaches the hardened nub of a nipple. He sucks it into his mouth, the flavor of Jensen bursting across his tongue in salty-sweet waves, and just listens to Jensen. The sounds he's making should really be in some kind of high-end porno, the type that has polished, unapologetically tanned actors and an actual plot, and you're almost surprised when it dissolves into mindless fucking.

"Jare, Jared, fuck, I want you – I want you to fuck me." Jensen moans out around his gasping breaths. The shocking heat of it is like Jared's life flashing before his eyes, and then he's fumbling at the glove compartment where he always keeps lube and a box of condoms. He's never called his truck the "pussy wagon", like Jensen's implied, but that doesn't mean he isn't prepared.

Jensen's squirming underneath him, and Jared realizes he's trying to take his pants off. He lifts up, helping Jensen peel them down, laughing when he has to shift and pull off a cowboy boot. "Fuck that," Jensen says, leaving the other boot on and letting his expensive, designer leather hang off of his leg. Jensen's wearing some kind of ridiculous silk underwear, and Jared almost teases before he reminds himself he's got the same kind to wear under his own leather clothes. They go the same way as the pants, joining the crumpled mass around Jensen's ankle, and then they're dragging across Jared's back when Jensen brings his limbs back up around Jared.

The tube of slick pops open easily, Jared's fingers are slippery before he even knows it, and he's tracing a cold trail down Jensen's stomach; leaving shiny residue on pubic hair, Jared pulls his fingers down past Jensen's straining cock and starts to trace his crack slowly, tantalizingly. Jensen whimpers against him, and starts chanting, "Do it do it do it," under his breath, but Jared takes his time. It's Jared's first real bout of gay sex, and he's not quite sure how to do this. Still, how different can it be from anal sex with a chick? Taking that as his cue, Jared lets his hand slip between Jensen's cheeks, finding the puckered opening and gently massaging it with a fingertip. Jensen jolts like he's been shot, and then practically melts into the seat, spreading his legs wider and closing his eyes. His mouth is pink and deep, and Jared pushes a finger inside at the same moment he falls on Jensen's mouth.

"You're so hot like this," Jared whispers against Jensen's lips, working his finger deeper and marveling at the tight, smooth heat that surrounds it. Just thinking about his cock going there is making him light headed and sweaty.

"More…" Jensen shudders, twining fingers in Jared's damp hair, hauling Jared's mouth down against his neck, and Jared works a second finger in. Jensen bites his lip, Jared can see it out of the corner of his eye, but then Jen loosens up again, welcoming Jared's intrusion. When he starts fucking himself on Jared's hand, Jared removes his fingers, adds more lube, and fits a third digit into Jensen's ass. Jensen's whimper is half pain now, and Jared stops, feeling muscles clench around his fingers and Jensen's thighs trembling with tension.

"God, Jense, you're so fucking tight. God," Jared curls his fingers involuntarily, and when Jensen cries out against him, he shoves himself upward, alarmed. "What? Did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

"Aw, fucking hell, yes. Do that again," Jensen demands, opens his eyes, and his irises are completely gone, the black of pupil all that remains except for a thin ring of green. "Mm, didn't hurt me, Christ."

Jared thinks back, it's hard with Jensen trying to move underneath him, and then he remembers and curls his fingers again. Jensen jumps, every muscle in his body tightening and releasing, and wraps an arm around Jared's neck without warning, putting him in a headlock. Jared laughs softly, massaging the spot he's found, and Jensen starts shaking, heading towards complete meltdown.

"Wait, wait. In, Jared. I need you inside. When I come. Fuck," Jensen begs, the bar lights highlighting his pleasure-slack face. _Bar lights…_ Jared's brought back to their surroundings with a shock, and even Jensen pleading isn't enough to hold back his alarm.

"Not here, Jen, let me get you home." He husks, still achingly hard, but his propriety is holding the reins now, and he can almost hear his momma lecturing him on rules and manners. It's the stupidest thing ever to break this up, but Jared starts to pull back anyway.

"Fuck home," Jensen is incredulous, indignant, and he sits up, gasping when Jared's fingers pop out of him, but then leaning forward and hauling Jared bodily into the seat. He slams the door, gets Jared sitting, and straddles his lap, smiling wolfishly as he rips a condom wrapper open between his teeth. "No way am I gonna let you get me all worked up and then ditch. The _fuck_ is that, man."

Jared blinks owlishly, before looking around frantically. No way are they going to do this again, public sex _does not_ get him off, and hidden around a corner is one thing, but his truck… hell, _anyone_ could walk up to his truck. It's right by the door! He can't believe he let himself get this carried away, and then he feels Jensen grab his cock and before he can so much as gasp the condom's rolled on and he's at the entrance to Jensen's body and Jen is easing himself onto Jared.

Every single worry assailing him, about bodyguards and policemen and _jail_, for Christ's sake, disappears when he feels the head of his dick breach Jensen's ass. Jensen is breathing hard, concentrating, and lucky for him one of them is because there's no way Jared can right now. It's almost too much stimulation, too much to handle, and his fingers are scrabbling helplessly at the seat, the window, before Jensen sinks all the way down and Jared loses his mind. He never knew there was anything this perfect in the entire world, never knew that the feel of Jensen's ass against the tops of his thighs could be the hottest thing ever and that the tiny, breathy pants Jensen is making would make him want to stay that way forever, buried in Jensen's body in the parking lot of a gay bar. Jensen clenches once around him, as if testing the feel of it, before he leans forward and devours Jared's mouth again.

Jared digs his fingers into Jensen's hips, stars flashing behind his eyes and Jensen clamps down again, and Jared's hips quiver upwards before he can stop them. Jensen lets out a throaty sound that could be laugh, and then he's lifting up again, sliding down, and Jared needs to shove upwards more than he needs to breathe. The solid sounding _thud_ when Jensen's head hits the truck's roof doesn't stop him, but the second time it happens, Jared manages to open his eyes. Jensen's frowning, rubbing his hair, before he sees Jared watching and smiles sweetly.

"Guess you should've bought that convertible like I told you to."

"Guess so," Jared grits out, and Jensen's teeth are white in the darkness. He presses onto Jared, maddeningly holding Jared still and at the same time pushing his cock deeper into Jen's ass, and Jared feels his eyes roll back in his head. For a minute there's silence, the only sound their shared breathing, and then Jensen pulls up and off, collapsing in a way that jostles Jared over behind the steering wheel.

"Drive," Jensen demands.

"What?" Jared is puzzled, his brain still fogged by Jensen (God, he'd been fucking _Jensen_, why the _hell_ had they stopped?) and the musky, wet smell of the truck.

"Drive to your goddamn house before I take care of this myself and leave you here," Jensen says calmly, and Jared stares dumbly at the hand lazily stroking Jensen's erection.

Jared's fingers blindly find his keys, almost dropping them when the cold metal brushes against his dick, and then shoves them into the ignition, turning and the truck roars to life, and the whole time he's never taken his eyes off Jensen. Jen smiles lazily, sexily, leaning his back against the door and drawing a leg up on the seat. He's taken his other boot off, discarding pants and underwear completely, and his shirt is open. Jensen's on display and he knows it, gnawing on a lip before letting it slip glistening from his mouth, trailing a hand down his abdomen.

"… look at the road to drive," Jared hears, before blinking and wrenching his eyes away. "Right," he chokes out, his foot hitting the accelerator without warning. The truck leaps forward before he manages to get it under control and ease it out of the parking lot. He makes it five whole blocks before a soft sound lures his eyes back to Jensen, and he almost runs a red light.

Streetlights paint Jensen's high cheekbones, gilding fluttering eyelids as he moans softly in the confines of the truck, and Jared misses the light turning green because he's busy watching Jen push slick fingers into his own ass. The car behind them honks, and Jared has enough gray matter still operating to thank God for tinted windows while he drives another two blocks, this time keeping his eye on the light and stopping in time.

Jensen is a mass of shadowed muscle in the corner of his eye, and Jared knows if he stops to look again, stops to follow Jensen's heaving chest with his eyes, his tongue, he'll end up fucking Jen against the car door while the light changes, unheeded, above them. Jared trains his gaze ahead, tries to shut his ears to the rustle of Jensen's nails digging into the seat and the glide of fingers between his thighs as Jensen flexes onto his own hand.

When Jared pulls up in front of his house, he's faced with the momentary dilemma of _how the hell do I get half-fucked, half-naked Jensen into my house_, before he looks over and notes Jensen has already squirmed into his pants, shoved the underwear between the leather and his lower back, and left the fly ajar, cock jutting out almost jauntily. Looking up at Jared, Jensen grins as he sticks his feet into his boots. "Time to roll, Jared, honey, you know?"

Jared gapes through a few blinks, but Jensen is already out and gone into the night. Jared has enough sense left to turn off the truck before he almost falls out the driver's side, and then hurries around and up his stairs, hissing every time the wind picks up and hits his dick. He can't believe he just ran past Ms. Gerard's house with his pants open and a fucking _hard-on_ waving hello, but then he's past astonishment and Jensen's got him pressed up into the shadows next to his door. "Open it," Jen growls, tracing a finger over the jut of a hipbone and almost makes Jared drop his keys.

Jared doesn't exactly remember anything else until they're stumbling through the door to his bedroom, sucking on each other's mouths and kicking off shoes and pants and underwear. Jensen's shirt is gone in the next second, and then Jared's is pulled over his head, a button scraping his eyebrow and he hisses in pain before his head is out, hair mussed and in his eyes. Jared finds Jensen's mouth by kissing his way down his face, and then Jensen's hooked a foot around his knee and he's falling to the bed, landing on Jensen, who let's out an _oof_ sound as the mattress bounces them gently.

Jared lifts himself carefully, takes a moment to look at the planes and shadows that make up Jensen in the glow of the lamp; Jen's absolutely shameless, comfortable in his own skin in a way Jared will never be. Jared never thought he'd get here, never even pictured it before that early morning in Jensen's apartment, and ever since then he'd forced it to the back of his mind. But now that Jared's got Jensen laid out before him, looking up at him through hooded eyes and delicate eyelashes, Jared feels the weight of reality sink into him with the slow, seeping warmth of hot chocolate on a cold night.

"You're really here," he lets his lips brush Jensen's cheek, imagining he can taste each freckle, a point of warmth against his sensitized mouth. Jensen's smile eases onto his face, and Jared feels jaw muscles tighten beneath his teeth as he bites along the angular bone.

"Yeah," Jensen's voice is Texas on a hot day, lazy and gritty and all encompassing, "I'm here," and wraps his arms around Jared's back, rubbing fingers down his spine and caressing the dimples just above Jared's ass. "But if you aren't fucking me in the next four seconds, I'll be forced to take desperate action."

Jared chuckles, liking the suddenly languid attitude they've picked up now that they are lying on his bed and have all the time in the world. "Desperate action, huh? What's that like?"

Jensen tries to shift up underneath Jared, maybe to flip them over and reverse positions, but Jared uses his greater weight and height to keep him pinned. Jensen's arms are taut under Jared's hands in a way that's completely addictive, and he moves his head to the side to nip at Jen's shoulder.

"Well, it would be right now if you weren't so damn heavy," Jensen grumps, but Jared knows from the way Jen's cock is pressing hot and hard against his belly that Jen's completely turned on by his forced vulnerability.

Stretching to reach his bedside table, Jared pulls open a drawer and searches around inside, finding another condom and some more slick by touch. Lifting himself again, he peels off the old contraceptive and throws it to the floor. "Gross," Jensen whispers, but he's smiling, and he takes the unopened condom from Jared, smiling wickedly. "Let me help you with that," is burned against Jared's throbbing pulse point, and then he's on his back and the condom's being rolled down his aching cock with Jensen's mouth. Jared struggles not to lose himself when Jensen deep throats him, and then pulls off slowly, sucking all the way up.

"I'm gonna ride you, Jare. Like a fucking stallion," Jensen mutters, almost to himself, and then he lifts up, throws a leg across Jared, and slides Jared's dick up his ass without any more preparation than Jensen's own spit on the condom and the truck ride over here. Jared stiffens as his cock is embraced in soft, pulsing warmth, his eyes slamming shut, and his hands fly to Jensen's waist as a whimper escapes his gritted teeth. Jensen grins, breath catching as he gets in a few good bounces, before Jared's summoning the last of his strength and flipping them over. Leaning back, Jared pushes one of Jensen's legs up, hooks it over his shoulder, and lets the other one wrap around his waist before he leans forward to take Jensen's mouth. They both groan as Jared slips deeper.

"Fuck, fuck, Jared! I – This feels so fucking good, oh Jesus– !" Jensen stutters, helpless as he twists under Jared, trying to get Jared's cock further inside. Jared grunts in response, watching his sweat drip onto Jensen's collarbone, imagines he can hear it sizzle as he starts up a hard rhythm that has the bed swaying in response. It's almost funny, when the headboard starts banging the wall, nearly too cliché to be real, but it is and Jared can feel his balls slapping Jensen's ass every time he pushes in, can feel Jen clench around him every time he pulls out, trying to drag him back.

Jensen comes first, his face going tight and then loose as his entire body liquefies under Jared's and he opens his mouth, gasping for air. Jared can feel him trembling as his cock pumps under Jared's hand, and the muscles in Jensen's ass are squeezing Jared mercilessly, but he's not there, not quite yet, just a little more…

"Come for me, Jared, come in my ass, I want to feel it," Jensen's biting off the words into Jared's ear, tightening the muscles around Jared's dick one more time, and Jared's orgasm comes from behind and knocks him over like a heart attack. It seems to go on forever, and when he finally comes down, can finally sort out all the colors in front of his eyes into 'Jensen' and 'bed' and 'alarm clock', it's all he can do to draw himself gently out of Jensen. Jensen lets his legs fall with a sigh, wincing slightly, and watches as Jared removes the condom and ties a knot in it, dropping it over the side of the bed into what he hopes is the trashcan.

They're silent for a while, both lying on top of the blanket, Jared almost dozing, but then Jensen's pushing on his shoulder, murmuring velvety words into his ear, and he moves to the side, letting the covers flutter down over the both of them. Jensen snuggles in next to Jared, and right before he conks out completely, Jared manages, "I always knew you'd be a cuddler… you pussy."

"Whatever," Jensen laughs, tugging Jared's arm over his hip as they lie face to face, and Jared lets him, studiously not thinking of the morning after and allowing himself to have this: Jensen like a furnace in his bed, the scent of sex and spunk heavy in the air around them, but the join of Jensen's neck to his shoulder smelling of clean sweat and cologne. Jared sighs into the firm flesh, inhaling one last time as he lets the world fall away in sleep and contentment, tightening his arm around Jensen's body.

END

**Author's Note:**

> (Read the story on LJ [HERE](http://jonny-vrm.livejournal.com/2416.html).)


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